:: Logic Probe ::

:: Monday, April 26, 2004 ::

[+] 2:54 PM

Guardian Unlimited | Special reports | Leonardo's car brought to life

A programmable steering mechanism allows it go straight, or turn at pre-set angles. But only to the right. Good in towns like today's Florence, with a one-way system. As ever, Leonardo was centuries ahead of his time.

[+] 2:10 PM

Early Visual Media

This website will be a window to intriguing and mostly forgotten Early Vintage Visual Media and their history. The aim is not to bring a complete overview of the history of Visual Media but rather a personal selection... This web site will mainly focus on Pre-Cinema, Precursors of Photography, Photography & Early Film and Conjuring Arts in relation to the previous subjects.

[+] 1:56 PM

MapMachine

National Geographic's redesigned online atlas gives you the world—your way. Find nearly any place on Earth, and view it by population, climate, and much more. Plus, browse antique maps, find country facts, or plan your next outdoor adventure with our trail maps.

[+] 1:35 PM

BBC NEWS | Technology | Fingertips 'read' text messages

"Pieces of art could be developed solely to be touched, by 'tactile composers' akin to music for the ear and paintings for the eye."

[+] 3:12 PM

At this moment, I didn't feel shame or fear, but just kind of blah, like when you're sitting there and all the water's run out of the bathtub.

Holly (Sissy Spacek), Badlands, (dir. Terrence Malick, 1973)

[+] 3:56 PM

At someone's house for dinner last night, still being introduced to housemates, I hear the opening signals of Sun Ra's Space Is The Place. "Ah, Sun Ra" I say. After it's 30-odd minutes of immense interstellar manifestoing, the unique sounds of Fela Kuti pound out from the muddy speaker...

Fela's status as a "celebrity Gramscian" is crucial to understanding the role of contemporary artists like Meshell Ndegoecello, Common, Dead Prez, Michael Franti, Ani Defranco, Mos Def, Talib Kweli, Sarah Jones and The Coup, who also use their relative celebrity to flow counter-hegemonic political and social ideas into the mainstream. The point is not to suggest that any of these figures be read as "the Michael Jordan of resistance" (though I hear my man Henry Giroux loud and clear on this), but that their celebrity opens up a new space to conceive of political resistance in the era of Viacomization. Thus it is fitting that some of these artists contributed their time and energy to Red Hot + Riot. The project not only celebrates Fela's music and his role as a creative agitator, but also allows the talents of this generation of celebrity Gramscians to labor in the name of HIV/AIDs education and anti-homophobic politics. Red Hot + Riot is as much a cross-generational effort as it is a transnational effort, drawing on the artistic sensibilities of D'Angelo, Femi Kuti, Res, Nile Rodgers, Sade, Baaba Maal, Taj Mahal, Tony Allen, Archie Shepp, Roy Hargrove, Common, Meshell Ndegeocello, and Macy Gray.

Mark Anthony Neal, Still a Riot Goin' On: Fela Kuti, Celebrity Gramscians, and the AIDs Crisis in Africa, Pop Matters, 26 February 2003

[+] 1:26 PM

15-year-old chess gramdmaster Teimur Radjabov has defeated Garry Kasparov.

His talent showed early. At 10 he beat Viktor Korchnoi in a simultaneous display and by the time he was 11 Kasparov predicted he would be world champion. It is said Kasparov presented prizes at a junior competition and spent time on stage talking to Radjabov, who told friends "I saw the fear in his eyes".

Leonard Barden, Kasparov defeated by 15-year-old prodigy, The Guardian, 25 February 2003.

[+] 11:27 AM

Your help in needed in the creation of a book about Flann O'Brien. O'Brien is the Irish author who has 'done my head in' over the last couple of years, with his strange-smelling cauldron of Irish mythology, demented humour, gnarled logic, and metafictional anarchism.

From The Examiner...

I AM writing an anecdotal book about the humorous antics, escapades and exploits of my brother, Brian O’Nuallain (Flann O’Brien, Myles na Gopaleen).

I have already collected much material but I am haunted by the possibility that I may miss a good anecdote.

I appeal to readers who may know of a true and humorous anecdote to please send it to me. All correspondence will be acknowledged.

The book will be profusely illustrated and will be called ‘The Brother.’

Michael O’Nuallain,
Belgrave Square,
Monkstown,
Co Dublin.

[+] 10:57 AM

The friends — who first met in the café, which they call their “sanctuary” against the grim reality of a looming war — swiftly move on to literature: Truman Capote, Milan Kundera, Sylvia Plath.

“When we think about books, we forget about the surreal quality of life outside,” says Sada, who has translated Umberto Eco and Italo Calvino, and speaks English with a perfect British accent acquired by listening to the BBC. “The war doesn’t exist inside this café,” he says.

Every Friday, the last of Baghdad’s tattered intellectuals meet in the Al-Shah Bender, which lies at the end of the famous Friday book market, to argue, commiserate, trade books and buy each other endless cups of tea. In the land where the written word was invented, but which now is shrouded in cultural isolation, it is the last vestige of intellectual life.

Janine di Giovanni, Sanctuary of books and hope keeps war at bay, London Times, 22 February 2003.

[+] 6:07 PM

First three notes of John Cage's 639-year-long composition will soon be heard, after 17 months of the organ's bellows being inflated.

[+] 8:20 AM

From [non] list, following the rumour that Boyd Rice had been murdered...

Date: Thu, 30 Jan 2003 10:27:59 -0000
From: thesammich
Subject: it's true, no, really

The imposter claiming to be Boyd Rice is, in fact, dead. Though not in Germany. . .

Boyd stayed for a breif time in Argentina last year, studying and interviewing local german neighborhoods and enjoying fine beef. Then, in an unprecedented storm, a bolt of lightning burnt an ancient sumerian symbol upon the hide of a cow that would later be deemed "the marked beef of the accursed". The Argentine farmer/owner of this chosen cow contacted authorities, but before their arrival, the farmer was found quite dead, lying upon his back with a large wedge of gouda cheese lodged in his anus.

That's right. Gouda. Put two and two together.

It is alleged that the marked cow fled to Mexico, whereupon he blended with local authorities and, using his newfound power, conned several tourists out of their "prescription" medication. Under the influence of said medication the "moo father of the final days" stumbled upon a computer, which he used to spread groundless rumors amongst the rest of the cattle, who believed every word he said, then soon after looked very foolish.

[+] 9:46 AM

From the [avant-garde] mailing list; a great story...

Date: Tue, 21 Jan 2003 23:52:51 -0500
From: "Margaret Davis"
Subject: Henry Grimes & Olive Oil

Dear musicians / music lovers,

By now you may have heard the great news that master bassist Henry Grimes, missing from the music world ever since the late '6O's, had been found in good health, though pretty much destitute, living in a single-room occupancy hotel in South Central Los Angeles. He's been there for the last 2O years but had long ago sold his bass for survival needs and has since contented himself with writing poetry, trying a bit of acting, doing odd jobs, and surviving on Social Security.

The person who found Henry Grimes, a wonderful young social worker and writer named Marshall Marrotte, has been serving selflessly as Henry's mentor and protector since then.

Henry Grimes told Marshall that he very much wished he had a bass so he could start playing again. Here we have a supreme master musician who went to Juilliard, who recorded and played brilliantly with musicians as diverse as Albert Ayler, Don Cherry, Benny Goodman, Roy Haynes, Lee Konitz, Steve Lacy, Charles Mingus (yes, Charles Mingus), Sunny Murray, Perry Robinson, Sonny Rollins, Pharoah Sanders, Archie Shepp, Cecil Taylor, Charles Tyler, McCoy Tyner, Rev. Frank Wright, and many more.

For me, a planet where the great Henry Grimes does not have a bass is not a place I want to be, and being unprepared for space travel at this time, I took it upon myself to begin a month-long nationwide search for a bass for Henry Grimes. I wrote to, called, or otherwise contacted about 5O musicians Henry played and recorded with, as well as many bassists who would know him as a music hero even if he was before their time. I put particular concentration on the West Coast because shipping a bass is a big expense in itself, and also I thought the Western music community would want the opportunity to gather around him. So with Marshall Marrotte's approval, I put the word out far and wide, and then we waited for a bass for Henry Grimes.

For quite a while, nobody moved.

Slowly a few people began to say they'd be willing to do something -- make a donation, hold or play in a benefit concert, contribute a bow -- kind, good offers, but not a bass for Henry Grimes to play. A couple of afflicted souls responded negatively, cynically or with hostility. Most just didn't answer at all.

Then, just when I was beginning to despair, to question my lifelong belief in the term "music community" as something more than a concept or an ideal, but as an actual living entity that embraces and sustains its own -- the great William Parker came home to New York City from another of his tours, got around to reading his Emails, and called me to say he would send a bass and a bow to Henry Grimes. First he wanted New York's great bass specialist David Gage to make a small repair, and then David's shop would build a shipping crate for the bass and arrange and pay for the shipping. One of David Gage's employees, a bassist called Sprocket, even put up $1OO to help with shipping costs, while Wendy Oxenhorn of New York's Jazz Foundation stood prepared to cover shipping if needed, and was happy to learn she could keep that money to help another musician in need.

Henry Grimes received the bass William Parker named Olive Oil (more, I think, due to the greenish tinge of her finish than for Popeye's girlfriend) on December 16th, 2OO2. We've been in touch with Henry, and he is ecstatic to have Olive Oil and has been practicing happily ever since. In fact, the building manager reports that nowadays when people knock on Henry's door, he's too immersed in practicing to reply!

[+] 12:00 PM

Psychogeography meets algorithms at .walk.

[+] 1:22 PM

From the [deathinjune] list...

Date: Sun, 22 Dec 2002 21:42:13 -0000
From: "Patrick Hitthaler"
Subject: Re: Re: Heilige Tod!

death?
that unavoidable parking space at the end of this one way cul-de-sac down which we all travel ... after a few days the windows are trashed then somebody steals the tyres and after a few months of standing around with stickers plastered all over - this vehicle seems to be abandoned ... the police - the council moves in and what once was a proud tool to get you through life is taken away and recycled ...

patrick

[+] 7:35 PM

Last night is a smokey blur - another session at the pub with Klaus and his friends. But this is not one of those hangovers where you write the day off into darkness. It is the more interesting kind, where destroyed synapses are reconstructing themselves, sometimes missing their old paths and making odd, new connections. I remember things I haven't remembered before - things that do not come out of the ordered store of memories I call my past. I remember my mother's moustache in the sun, I remember the acute hunger-and-loss feeling of adolescence, I remember the burnt-chalk smell of tram brakes in summer. You think you have your past files away under subject headings but, somewhere, it waits to reconnect itself.

Anna Funder, Stasiland, 2002, Text Publishing, Melbourne.

[+] 9:52 AM

John Cage inducted into American Classical Music Hall of Fame.

[+] 9:13 AM

In some century to come, when the school children will whistle popular tunes in quarter-tones-when the diatonic scale will be as obsolete as the pentatonic is now-perhaps then these borderland experiences may be both easily expressed and readily recognized. But maybe music was not intended to satisfy the curious definiteness of man. Maybe it is better to hope that music may always be transcendental language in the most extravagant sense.

Charles Ives, Essays, 1971.

[+] 8:35 AM

From the [invisibles] mailing list. A beautiful story, which made me laugh

Date: Wed, 18 Dec 2002 09:53:48 -0000
From: "magda7000 <******@hotmail.com>"
Subject: Re: quote

Russell and Nietzche were in the pub. It was a metaphysical pub, on account of the timelines involved.

Russell said, 'I think you're full of fookin shit. 'The Gay Science'? Don't make me laugh.'

Nietszche pulled a funny face with a tortoise and made goggle-eyes with his fingers.

He said, 'See that? That's you laughing, that is. That's you laughing, when you're trying to look really cool. When you're trying to impress the ladies. Oh and by the way PUGWASH did really well, didn't it?'

And then he looked deep into his pint and said 'You can bite me, pal. You can bite me right on my fluffy pink ass.' And a single boozy tear rolled down his cheek.

Then a student came in and couldn't believe his luck. Wow, Russell and Nietzche, together, in a pub! They made him buy them a drink. He tried to show them their areas of commonality and was making more sense than the old ducks had in the entire evening. It was when he started talking about the internet that they'd had enough, and Russell and Nietzche stood up as one and punched his lights out.

Those 'genius' guinness ads have a lot to answer for, alcohol is not always an aid to the imagination. If the philosophers had all spent a bit less time down the Queen's Head, Aldous Huxley's 'Island' might have a runway and passports by now.

magda

[+] 1:28 PM

Aspen magazine, which ran from 1965 to 1971, has an online presence. Nice. From the website...

This is a web version of Aspen, a multimedia magazine of the arts originally published from 1965 to 1971. Each issue of Aspen was delivered to subscribers in a box, which contained a variety of media: printed matter in different formats, phonograph recordings, and even a reel of Super-8 film. This website is a work in progress: it currently includes issues 1 through 9 in their entirety; issue number 10 will be added later.

Included are their phonographic components in MP3 format, and films in Quicktime and Real Player.

[+] 12:59 PM

"The universe is weeping," begins Keiji Haino cryptically, "but there's one fragment of it that wants desperately to block out those screams of pain. That fragment is me. I started to ask myself where these sounds came from, why I could hear them. That's why I started to play music. Did the universe come into existence when someone started questioning its existence? Do we remember if we were already born? These questions are very important to me. Did the image exist first, or does the image give rise to the actual thing? But if you're not on the side to affirm that you have been born, there is no meaning to performing. It is difficult to find that balance withing yourself."

Alan Cummings, 'When the music's over' [interview with Keiji Haino], The Wire #221, July 2002.

[+] 9:22 AM

Tomorrow, with electronic music in our ears, we will hear freedom.

John Cage, Silence, 1939.

[+] 9:17 AM

You got to reach people with all kind of sounds now. Sounds, that's what they need. They got to have sound bodies now (and) sound minds. He be playing the sound (Refers to John Hinds who is sitting next to Sun Ra playing a cymbal) A lot of musicians on the planet but they don't have no sound. That's what's wrong. They don't have the sound. And I hear a lot of singers…Ain't got no sound. They be singing everything on the beat…and that ain't Jazz. But they good singers. Like Johnny Mathis. He sings everything just like it's written. He be putting his feeling, whatever he got but he ain't got no Jazz feeling.

Sun Ra, October 31 1988

[+] 11:25 AM

"Thinking is the activity I love best and writing to me is simply thinking through my fingers."

Isaac Asimov

[+] 11:06 AM

"I'm looking at the year 1908, when Chicago was a real hotbed of anarchist activity," he said. "But it's not a literal look at this place. I see urban fiction as a sort of imaginary form of city-building, a state of mind. It's like the Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges talked about books that become cities in themselves, the way James Joyce made his novel Ulysses into a vision of Dublin.

Hedy Weiss, 'A 'Nowhere Man' builds a house of words' [article on Aleksandar Hemon], Chicago Sun-Times, 4 December 2002.

[+] 3:05 PM

1979 and early 1980 was the golden age for PiL. Levene felt great to be alive in that post-rock dawn: working with friends, making fulfilling music that was both groundbreaking and successful, and all on Virgin's payroll. Apart from Wobble, the group even lived together as one happy family. With some of his Sex Pistols earnings, Lydon had shrewdly bought a house in the scuzzy end of Chelsea: a snip at £12,000. "It was on the corner of Gunter Grove, which was horrible, and Edith Grove, which was much nicer," recalls Levene. "John had the top part of the house, I had the bottom, and Dave Crowe lived in this bit you had to walk through to get upstairs." With the fridge well-stocked with lager, various other substances floating around and Lydon's massive speakers pounding out reggae in the communal upstairs living room, Gunter Grove was a magnet for post-punk luminaries, from Don Letts to The Slits.

Simon Reynolds, 'Albatross Soup' [interview with Keith Levene], The Wire #226, December 2002.

[+] 2:15 PM

In Olinda, if you go out with a magnifying glass and hunt carefully, you may find somewhere a point no bigger than the head of a pin which, if you look at it slightly enlarged, reveals within itself the roofs, the antennas, the skylights, the gardens, the pools, the streamers across the streets, the kiosks in the squares, the horse-racing track. That point does not remain there: a year later you will find it the size of half a lemon, then as large as a mushroom, then a soup plate. And then it becomes a full-sized city, enclosed within the earlier city: a new city that forces its way ahead in the earlier city and presses it towards the outside.

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities, 1972.